Stained Glass Reality
by Leemix
Summary: "There's many ways we can see the world. But we see the world through our own unique perspectives. How do you see yours? And can that perspective ever truly be changed?" (Or where Asami Sato narrates her life, shit goes down, and she really needs her coffee.)


**a/n:**So, whilst I am perfectly aware of the fact I still have the "Phantom Skin" series to finish off, I had a flash of inspiration the other day when re-watching my all time favourite anime, CLANNAD. This is a modern setting, yes, and bending is not included in this world. But the great thing about Korra is the characters still feel like real people if you just alter a few details. This is technically based off of CLANNAD, and some scenarios will be similar, but the characters and their stories are crafted in the way I write them. For this, I decided to go with Asami as the main character, rather than Korra. Why? Asami just needs to have a narrative about her. She's a good character. She just needs something more focused on her voice. I hope I do that justice. And I do hope you all like this.

* * *

**chapter one: breeze on the hill**

_(Flashes of sunflowers covering the green fields. Like dust, the seeds scatter and settle on whatever they deem worthy soil, and from the sky's tears, they grow._

_"We are the world that surrounds us. For some, they are the river; soothing and forever changing. For others, they are the earth; sturdy and the shelter for others. For many, they are the fire; sustainable and thriving for life. But for many, they are the air; clear and invigorating for the soul. But you, Asami, do not need to fit yourself in that category._

_But when the time comes, what shall you be? Who will you choose to be?"_

_"… I don't know.")_

* * *

I hated this city.

It was filled with memories I would've rather forgotten.

One person such as myself trailed along those same streets everyday. Cars polluted the air until its fumes choked you. Beggars sat on street corners long enough that you noticed things only a lover would be able to identify. Maybe if I decided to sit with them one day, nobody could differentiate between me and the common pickpocket.

Everyday was the same for me. Stuffing hands into blazer pockets to escape the icy breezes, pulling my scarf just that notch too tight to hide my face. Bag slung over my shoulder because I couldn't be bothered with the other strap, and other such nonsense that a student feels the need to describe when beginning their story.

The school on the hill—the one with the constant winds circulating around the rooftops, that's where I went. Republic City Academy. Well, it much less an academy then a token attempt at this city trying to seem sleek and modernistic.

All the streets leading up to it were grey, the buildings were around there were the colour grey, even the trees decided to blend in with the dull surroundings rather than stand out from the bleakness of the life they supposedly provided for us. Students flocked to the same roads every day, dressed in their cheap navy skirts and black shirts and long stockings. The boys most likely wore something different than the girls, but I didn't care much for them.

Thus began the long climb up the hill.

It wasn't a particularly busy morning that day; a few of the usual morning students lingered around with half-eaten breakfast still in their hands as they caught up with their yawning classmates, but nonetheless, it was relatively peaceful and quaint. The wind was still blowing, but it was a tender breeze, one might associate with the breathy song of a mother cradling her child, in a way.

I suppose I never really noticed at the time, but just before I saw her standing there, the light of the sun had begun to streak the pathway with each step that I took. Each brown leaf on the floor crispened up in the heat under my footsteps. Each cicada that I saw buzzed away from their diminished food stores and into the skies above. My eyes did their best to follow the rapid-moving wings, though to no avail.

In a way, I was glad for that. For it was that failed trail that led me onto another.

There she was.

Stood at the side of the road.

Her hands were in her pockets of her uniform trousers, and she was leaning against one of the hollowed-out trunks of a cherry-blossom tree that had passed away in snow veil of the previous winter. Her eyes were closed, relaxed, and the wind gently blew through that ponytail of hers. Her blazer was wrapped around her waist, her shirt buttons were askew, but she held a look of utter contentment on her face.

I'd been checking my phone for messages at that point, but my body froze when I saw her glance toward the skies.

"Real nice day, isn't it?"

I looked around awkwardly, then faced her again. _'Is she talking to me?'_ I thought.

"Uh… "

_'Perhaps she's just speaking to someone in her head._' Upon further reflection, she could have been crazy. But it made perfect logical sense when in the moment. _'Or maybe she really is talking to me.'_

"The skies here are always so damn grey. It's nice to see some blue in there for once." She flipped a coin and slammed the silver onto her wrist. She grinned when she saw the result. "Yes! Heads again. Today's going to be good."

"You don't really know that based on coin alone." My own voice surprised me, and I think it shocked her as well. Her eyes opened to join with my gaze. Her blue to my green. Jaded and skied. Or whatever poetic nonsense I could come up with.

Point was, there were _**sparks**_. Or some red string of fate. Or whatever supernatural elements compelled me to stay there, I remained. Something made me stay there, despite the surreality of it all.

Still, I didn't break away from the conversation. "Sometimes guessing your next move can be fatal for whatever you want to do next. It's up to you what choices you take, not some precursor of 'fate'. Don't rely on just chance."

Philosophical conversations with a complete stranger were not on my schedule that day, especially so early in the damn morning. I could barely go a day without having terminology of advanced engineering injected into my brain every hour I was in the comfort of my own home, and subjects like philosophy and deep conversations about how to go about life were limited. By 'limited', I obviously meant by adding quick quips onto online forums wherever I felt it was appropriate to do so.

But, it was like I said earlier.

_**Sparks**_.

"Wow. For early in the morning, that was pretty deep." Her mouth hung agape as she rubbed her temples. "I thought I was being all, y'know, spiritual and stuff for being quiet and listening to the winds around here, but it seems I've been outmatched."

I shrugged and shoved my phone back in my pocket. "Well, I'm half-asleep and haven't had my daily fix of caffeine. This isn't the weirdest thing I've done with lack of coffee, trust me."

She rose a thick brow at me, and chuckled. "Sorry. Can't really trust your word on that if I barely know you."

"That's not exactly my fault, is it?"

"Suppose not."

It was around then, roughly, that we reached an impasse. The bells hadn't chimed yet, so there was no need to rush into the building. But still, we said little else to each other. Our heads were turned to face the wide blue skies above us, and seconds ticked by as small clusters of clouds formed together to create a vast empire of water and air. If I remember rightly, her brow actually glinted with small beads of sweat on her dark forehead, and I guessed she may have been running. She never actually _told_ me so.

There were a _lot_ of things she didn't tell me until later on.

"Come on," the flocks of students began to clutter up the pathway, and connections through standing quaintly in a place where the breeze never settles would have to wait. "We're going to be late."

"Uh, right." She stammered, and with my steps, she followed on behind me.

The rest of the climb up the hill was silent, save for the whistling winds that danced their notes of summer melodies around us. My mother always said that hill sang to the city tales that we humans had long forgotten. She never said why, nor do I remember when we had that chat. It could have been when I was born, when I started school, or when I asked in pure curiosity.

Either way, those words stuck with me. Like the breeze to the hill, we beckoned on, in odd directions and with steps not ordained. Sure, it was a jam-packed schedule for the day, filled with lessons I would most hate and some I would adore with every fibre of my being, but in between those fixed places, we could saunter off in any direction we pleased.

"By the way," she later told me, just before we parted ways, "I never told you my name."

"I don't believe I ever asked you for that name. Or should we do that thing where we have the meaningful life-changing conversation with the random stranger, then meet up years later and tell one another how much it improved our lives?"

She paused, and looked at me with a bemused expression. "As intriguing as that is, since we go to the same school, the odds of that happening are pretty null with you."

"Null, I afraid I am not. _Pretty_, however, I accept."

"Such modesty you possess."

"I try." I ran a hand through my hair to prove it so.

For a moment or two, she was awed. '_What can I say?'_ I thought to myself, '_I have that effect on people.'_ It was just a brief tease, something I was an expert in.

I never thought on how it would come into play later, though.

"Korra."

"Huh?"

She pointed at herself with her thumb and grinned. "Name's Korra. What's yours, Miss 'deep-conversations-at-8AM'?"

Deliberation took hold of me, and turned my head to gaze outside at the trees. Odd, the breeze had stopped blowing through the branches. They were completely stagnant. The leaves still flickered, however.

I drew a breath. "Sato." I told her, before mentally wishing to face-palm. This is not a damn interview. "Asami Sato."

"Well, Sato Asami Sato," she teased, winking at me, "I do hope we can continue these spiritual talks again sometime." She swung her bag over her shoulder, and turned around. I stuffed my hands back into my pockets and faced the opposite direction.

I never did get the last say in that conversation. All brilliant retorts my mind could have conjured up were replaced with the bell chimes, signalling the start of class. By the time I'd turned around to bid her farewell, she had gone.

I sighed, and relaxed my shoulders.

Senior year was going to be an interesting one, to say the least.

* * *

_("Do I have to fit into a category in order to be happy? Why can't I just be me?")_


End file.
